Confessions of a tree hugger

I love trees. I have been brought to tears at seeing trees cut down. I have often thought that if I could have a super-power, I would want the ability to create big beautiful trees in a blink. On long car trips, I often spend hours willing trees into existence--some willows around a small lake, rows of majestic elms lining barren streets, spruce trees in wide medians, groves of oak trees covering hills and roadsides. If I had my way, Minnesota would be sheltered under a blanket of oxygen-producing trees!

Therefore, it was with some alarm that I recently read in the Star Tribune that my choice of toilet paper was contributing to the loss of old growth forests. In an article reprinted from the NY Times, Leslie Kaufman stated that the Ultra-soft brands of tissue can't be produced using recycled paper. The fluffy paper we all prefer comes from millions of trees harvested in North and South America.

The average American uses 24 rolls of paper annually. That amounts to a whopping lot of trees flushed down the toilet.

So now I have to decide whether to give up my Quilted Northern and buy the recyled brands of paper products. The recycled brands are never on sale like the specials they run on the fluffy tissue. I'm going to do my environmental best to find the alternative that saves trees. I hope you will do that too.

Saturday musings

It's funny how music seems to become less entertaining as you grow older. As a teenager, popular music is fraught with meaning. It reaches the depths of your psyche and expresses your feelings so acutely that you want to listen to it over and over. The music of successive generations will never speak to you in the same way.

It's the same with clothes. The duds that were sooo cool when you were in high school are now amusing. When I was in grade school, the big boys were wearing taps on their loafers and beanies on their head. In a few years, the hineys would give way to the duck tail haircut and engineer boots.

I was never cool although I sometimes made lame attempts. In the eighth grade, I wore a plastic dog collar around one ankle because it was the fad. Pastel silk squares tied around the neck and demurely tucked under a pixie collar were also the rage. In the ninth grade, it was pop-it beads and knee socks with saddle shoes.

After a while, you begin to realize that style and fashion are for wimps and conformists. Being trendy only makes you one of the herd. Go ahead and shop at thrift stores and garage sales! Buy what you like and don't worry about what's hot in Paris!

My fashion sense tends towards dowdy. Therefore, I embrace dowdiness wholeheartedly. I'm
comfortable and bland and content.

Right place, right time

This morning Gracie, the adopted kitty, was lying in the cat bed that sits by the window overlooking the wooded lot next door. She's fond of watching the squirrels and birds that hang out there. All of a sudden a Pileated Woodpecker swooped in and landed on a tree only 20 feet from the window. We were both excited to see it.

The big, showy bird didn't stay long, but I'm so glad I happened to be looking at just the right moment. So many things in life depend on where you happen to be at any given time.

I sometimes think of that when going on a trip. I wonder if I'm leaving a minute too soon or too late to avoid an accident, or is it the precise time for me to wind up at the exact location where the accident would occur? But, if I missed being in the accident, how would I ever know? Indeed--why would I want or need to know that yesterday, perhaps, I'd have been T-boned by a truck if I had warmed up the car for ten seconds more?

You can tell that I "live on the edge". I wonder if all overweight people have this fatalistic bent. Since I've been fat all my life, I have lived with a constant barrage of health information that I am going to be unhealthy and die at an early age. Not only that, but I deserve to die at an early age!

In the meantime, Gracie is crawling around on my desk exploring all the doodads. She is a breath of fresh air in this long, long winter. I'm so glad she's here.

Here's a laugh

I wonder if they ever published a Lard Cookbook? Ad is from the 1930's.

Fighting ennui while lying in a puddle of doldrums

After being laid low by a bout of something vicious and pernicious, I'm still trying to regain some mental and physical energy. How many naps does it take to recover some purpose in life? I'm feeling like my brain is full of cotton and my body is collapsing into oatmeal.

This is not good.

So here are some good things:

I'm retired, so I don't have to worry about losing my job.
My income is enough that I can send a little money to the food shelf and I don't have to worry about using them any time soon (although I did several times in the past).
I have good neighbors.
I have good friends.
I have great kids and grandkids.
I will get over the blahs eventually.
And, then I can help other people.

Gee, I feel a lot better now!

First Wednesday

Today is the first Wednesday of the month. In the Twin Cities that means that the Emergency Sirens are tested at 1:00 pm throughout the metro area. The system is for warning residents of severe weather, tornadoes or even civil defense threats (since 9/11). I would barely notice the tests if it weren't for my friend, Margareth.

She is the leader of one of my writing groups and frequently reads memoirs of her life as a child in London during WWII. She tells about the terror of running to shelters from the German bombs at night. She still suffers PTSD from those dreadful times. So the first Wednesday of every month when the sirens sound, Margareth has to shake off the terror yet once again.

The sirens that make Minnesotans feel safe and secure do the opposite to those who have survived living in war-torn areas.

Let us count our blessings.

About adipose

When I was a kid, I was pudgy. I was unaware of the fact until we moved back to Minnesota from California when I was five. I have a vivid memory of meeting all my aunts for the first time, and they informed that I was fat. I have never felt anything but fat and unacceptable since.

There have been periods of my life when I lost weight and looked good, but my body image had been so distorted that I never recovered. I look at old pictures and wonder why I never knew I was OK. But, that shame never dies.

When I was in elementary school, it was common for us to have rhymes and chants. The most painful ones were taunts from my brothers or boys at school:
"Fatty-fatty two by four, Couldn't get thru the kitchen door, So she did it on the floor."

"Here comes the bride, Big fat and wide, Watch her waddle, From side to side." (My pastor used this to discourage me from having the traditional Wedding March at my wedding and instead using another hymn--which caused some confusion.)

I turned down my sister's request to be in her wedding because I'd recently had a baby and was still quite overweight.

There was also the specter of my Old Maid aunt who weighed 300 pounds and never married.
She lived with Grandma until she died and then slowly faded away. The aunt lived and died in the same small town and died before she turned sixty.

And yet, for all my history, when I watch the TV shows where they have large people taking off weight, I feel a little annoyance at them blubbering about their predicament. Obesity is so universally loathed that even fat people are prejudiced against other fat people.

I look forward to being cremated and having all my ugly fat burned up. I imagine hovering above the furnace dancing and singing (for surely I can do those things without all the extra flab and creaky bones!) It's gonna be great!